


The Treaty of Versailles

by SirFrankieCrisp



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Crushes, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, RIP Anton, Sexist Language, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-05 19:17:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirFrankieCrisp/pseuds/SirFrankieCrisp
Summary: After a trying 48-hour period, Gilfoyle and Dinesh test the waters to see if their war is actually over.





	1. Chapter 1

He remembers every piece of hardware that made up Anton. Thousands of dollars worth of cables, circuits, chips, and connectors. Setting it up at Stanford, while a monumental task, was one he could have performed on his own. Would had to have performed on his own, given the vast disparity in skill between him and his so-called equal, Dinesh. He didn't trust Dinesh in the same room as Anton with their coffee, let alone attempting to rebuild the entire system.

He stands silently in the vacuum of sound that is the empty garage. The hum of fans and the whir of motors in absentia create a black hole, and he can't help but feel swallowed. The weight of hundreds of hours spent in service of a comically doomed company. Gilfoyle wonders how many times he would have to singlehandedly save Pied Piper before he is offered Dinesh's shares. Then again, he can't take all the credit- Anton had unfucked them out of a disaster. Fuck Dinesh. He did lose a good friend today. 

He lets out a careworn sigh, and hears the door to the garage open behind him. He turns around slowly to see Dinesh holding two beers. He keeps his face neutral given his surprise. 

"Hey" Dinesh says, extending one beer out to him, "If you want it. I was looking for you."

Gilfoyle takes the beer from him with an affirmative grunt in thanks, pausing a moment at the unfamiliar label. 

"Yeti Imperial Stout," he reads, unwilling and unable to keep the prejudice out of his voice

"Oh fuck off," Dinesh rolls his eyes "They were out of your Rasputin bullshit and they said this was better, actually. So, really, you're welcome." He sees all of the neuroses warring through Dinesh and swallows his rebuttal with a swig of the beer. It is good. Really good. 

"Yeah. That's not bad, actually" Gilfoyle murmurs, inspecting the label again and looking to his anxious, bestriped companion. "Thanks."

Dinesh, the poor idiot, doesn't seem prepared to handle any lack of hostility, and stammers out a very half-assed. "…Yeah- I mean- it's called Yeti, and you're like a Yeti- except you're not tall like a Yeti- you're like- a hairy midget yet---"

"Are you done?" Gilfoyle sighs, eyeing Dinesh wearily. Dinesh seems to deflate at that, losing what little will he had to keep up the pretense. 

"I guess, yeah." Dinesh looks at the ground, sheepish. "Sorry about your dumb servers,"

"Eh. Anton lived out his potential. We should be so fortunate," He replies, nudging an unnecessary cable with his shoe. He feels that swallowed feeling again, in the wake of Dinesh's apology. They can't even seem to make eye contact under the weight of their ceasefire.

Dinesh makes a strangled sort of sound, and braves, "It's like, fucking unbelievable the way it all worked out actually. Richard is one lucky motherfucker"

"This wasn't luck," Gilfoyle counters, marginally irritated, "The system I created performed a task that was well within its capabilities. Just because it was not something we had predicted doesn't mean you get to give something shitty and imaginary like luck all the glory" He punctuates that thought with another swig of his beer. He's reminded of the fact that Dinesh had broken his reverie by bringing him a gift. It's not that he feels like an asshole, because Dinesh should fucking know by now that he has no patience for baseless platitudes. The beer is good. He might feel like an asshole.

"Holy shit Gilfoyle can't I just be nice to you for two fucking seconds? Jesus Christ," Dinesh does look genuinely hurt, buried under so much frustration. "Why do you have to be a piece of shit right now? There's a lot of people who would call today lucky."

"Ah. I forgot you are content with being as smart as 'a lot of people'. I won't make that mistake again," He drones back, hoping he's won and just wanting Dinesh to give in.

"Fucking incredible," Dinesh shakes his head, nowhere concrete to direct his anger. "The rest of your disgusting beer is in the refrigerator. I suggest alcohol poisoning if you haven't given that idea some thought yet. Good fucking night"

With that, he storms out, closing the door hard behind him. 

Gilfoyle eyes the spot where Dinesh just was, and downs the last of his beer. He wonders if Dinesh would notice if he started buying this instead of Old Rasputin. He tracks their encounter, from the apprehension on Dinesh's face as he offered Gilfoyle the beer, to the astonished hurt that propelled him out the door. He manages to mostly never have regrets, but the sound of the door slamming rings in his head and he feels a tug of something that feels an awful lot like regret.  
____________________________________

In the middle of the night, Gilfoyle is the only one still out in the living room. They are all recovering from the most insane twenty-four hour period any of them has been dragged through. He pulls himself away from his computer once he registers the feeling of almost an entire day with contact lenses. He rubs at his eyes to try and moisten them, but knows it's definitely time to attempt sleep. He gets up slowly, feeling the ache of his cramped up muscles. He shuffles to the kitchen to grab a final beer from the bag Dinesh bought for him.

His eye catches on the receipt, stuffed haphazardly to the side. That earlier twinge of regret hits him much harder than before. Exhausted, uncomfortable, buzzed and alone in the middle of the night, he realizes he can't tamp down the black hole of shame that sucks at his heart. Dinesh had spent a stupid amount of money stocking Gilfoyle up on beer. Judging by the dozen or so leftover, Dinesh had intended to have some himself. Gilfoyle flashes back to when he first sat at his computer and found a controller resting on his keyboard. He also remembers the other grocery bag still on the counter he had been systematically stealing his favorite chips from all night.

Huh.

Damn.

So, Dinesh must've planned a sort-of night for them. And Gilfoyle definitely shit all over it. Interesting.

He closes the refrigerator after way too long and pops open the bottle of beer. His logic reminds him that he can't take on any blame for Dinesh's social ineptitude. He also reminds himself that Dinesh did sort of start the hostility, by calling him a yeti. But that is a pathetic argument, and Gilfoyle knows it. 

When he's laying in bed an hour later, barely finding rest, he realizes there is one thing he could do to free himself from feeling like shit. And that thought finally pushes him over the edge of sleep. 

_______________________________

He finally manages sleep around 3:30am, rendering him dead to the world until 8:30am. He has never needed a tremendous amount of sleep to function at full capacity. Aside from when Jared is living in the garage, he is the first to wake, padding through the house with a bowl of cereal.

Today, however, he has a plan. He brushes his teeth to wash out the stale taste of sleep, barbecue chips, and imperial stout. He puts his contacts in, throws on pants and a shirt and flannel, and leaves the incubator for Philz Coffee.

When he returns, two coffees in a small holder with a few pastries, he is surprised to see Richard hunched over the kitchen table, eating cereal with great focus. Richard snaps out of his reverie and eyes Gilfoyle's assortment with curiosity. "Hey man," he says in an even softer voice than usual.

"Morning," Gilfoyle replies slowly, setting his items on the counter.

"What's with all the ah- business? Did you have someone over last night?" Richard stammers out, lamely raising his eyebrows for effect. 

"No," Gilfoyle says, and turns to unwrap a blueberry muffin, grabbing a knife to cut it in half. He wonders whether to leave it at that. He doesn't owe Richard shit at this point, quite the opposite actually. But damn, if he's going to try out this 'nice' thing he might as well get some practice on Richard, whose fragile psyche underwent a nuclear meltdown just two days prior. 

"I owe Dinesh," he adds, watching Richard pretend to be casual. So exhausting for nine in the morning. "If I'd have known you'd be up, I would've gotten you something." It's a lie, but a kind one. Gilfoyle doesn't know if he likes how that feels, even given Richard's genuine, crooked smile in return.

"Wow, uh- thanks! I'm actually giving caffeine a break after the multiple pots of coffee that sustained me for like a week," he huffs out a laugh, "but you know, thanks."

"Sure," Gilfoyle says, happy to be done with the ruse. He returns his attention to placing the last of the cut up pastries onto a plate. A girlfriend of his did this for him once, and he remembered thinking it was nice. He grabs Dinesh's paper cup along with the plate and starts to turn from the counter, stopping when he sees Dinesh standing in the doorway of the kitchen with wet hair and puffy eyes.

"Good morning, Richard," he tries to bite out. It ends up sounding petulant at best.

"Uh, hey Dinesh, did you sleep oka--"

"I slept great Richard, thank you for asking. You're such a good not sucky friend," he finishes, crossing directly to the coffee maker without giving Gilfoyle a second glance. Gilfoyle leans back against the counter to sip his drink, amused, having set the breakfast plate back down with Dinesh's coffee. Dinesh fumbles around the coffee maker, checking the above cabinet when he finds the tupperware with grounds empty.

"Are we seriously out of coffee?" He whines, "Who the fuck finished it and didn't buy more, that's super shitty."

"Sorry man, I didn't notice it was gone until this morning. I'm getting some today," Richard tries, scrambling out of his seat and setting his bowl in the sink. "Sorry, I'll just-" and then he disappears into the hallway toward the living room. He's noticed Richard really can't handle being on thin ice, not surprisingly. After he leaves, Gilfoyle wordlessly slides Dinesh the Philz Coffee cup across the counter. 

"What the hell is that?" Dinesh asks, voice losing some of its former bite.

"Coffee. Well, your approximation of what constitutes coffee," Gilfoyle answers. Dinesh gives him a suspicious look and starts to put the coffee to his lips, until Gilfoyle slides the plate of assorted treats over. 

Dinesh immediately lowers the cup on the counter and says, "What did you do to it?" 

Gilfoyle did expect this kind of reaction but it doesn't make his resolve any stronger. He levels Dinesh with a bored expression. "Good morning. I got us breakfast. Either have some or don't." With that, he snags half of a butter croissant that he cut for this occasion, and sits where Richard was at the kitchen table. He pulls his phone out and starts scrolling through tech blogs, finally able to enjoy his own beverage.

He doesn't see Dinesh remove the lid of his foamy latte and give it several suspicious sniffs. Dinesh takes the tiniest sip, and to his utter amazement it is, in fact, just his usual order from Philz. His stomach gives a growl, accepting the coffee and demanding more sustenance, prompting him to give in. He picks up the plate full of various items he knows he has ordered in the presence of his bizarre, almost-friend in the past, and sits at the table across from Gilfoyle. He sets the plate between them, and pulls out his own phone to start checking his social media sites. 

Twenty minutes of uninterrupted quiet pass, two hands reaching to pluck pieces of pastry until everything is gone. Gilfoyle glances up from his phone to survey the damage and gives Dinesh a smirk when they lock eyes. Dinesh's face flushes slightly and he says, "Well if it was poison at least I have Richard as a witness."

Gilfoyle's smirk grows and he lets out the smallest chuckle. "And he's so reliable," he says, returning to his phone.

"Fuck you," Dinesh says, "Thank you for coffee." The scraping of the chair against the kitchen floor signals to Gilfoyle that Dinesh is leaving. Gilfoyle panics somewhat, not really knowing how to proceed with his plan if Dinesh is still too mad to hover around him like he normally does. 

"If you're not doing anything later I downloaded the expansion pack for Battlefield and was gonna test it out," he calmly states, staring straight ahead even when Dinesh whips around to look at him, taken aback.

"I know you did, I distinctly remember you telling me to eat an army of dicks when I asked if I could try it out," Dinesh says, confused. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine," Gilfoyle says, "Don't take me up on my offer. But if you so much as glance at the screen when it's on I'll get that army of dicks down your throat one way or another"

Dinesh flushes again, which- odd. Nothing about this exchange is unusual or different, except that they had breakfast together by Gilfoyle's doing. "You're a freak," he mumbles out, heading toward his desk. Gilfoyle stares at the empty plate momentarily, before setting it in the sink and heading toward his desk, sensing some tension as he walks past Dinesh. What a long ass day this is gonna be.


	2. Chapter 2

He's been working through pages and pages of Smart Fridge code to see the potential there, unable to comprehend how people get paid for such mediocre programming. And how the average consumer has no concept of what they're throwing money at. He hopes Smart Cars are in better hands, but looks forward to the likely utter destruction and chaos if not.

He doesn't notice he's chuckling slowly, until Dinesh barks out, "What the fuck is so funny?"

"Coding errors. For once, not a result of your mediocrity," he says, not turning from his computer. 

"Oh shut up," Dinesh huffs, "Don't you have anything more interesting to say than the same bullshit about my abilities? It's a tired joke."

Gilfoyle slowly turns in his chair, and takes a moment to study Dinesh. "You're right," he says, "You write decent code." He stands up, crossing over to the couch and grabbing his controller. Just about 8 more waking hours left of this 'nice' charade. "I'm playing Battlefield now, last chance to join before you have to leave."

Dinesh, still reeling from Gilfoyle's admission, stands up and stammers out, "Jesus, fine, if it means I can stay in this room, you sociopath." He settles in on the couch next to Gilfoyle, giving him a weird look. Gilfoyle just wordlessly hands him a controller, and they start it up. 

They explore the new features in peace, pausing only to grab beers and snacks. Gilfoyle assumes this was the evening Dinesh had intended to have, with how content and relaxed he seems to be. He smiles easily, and keeps apace with Gilfoyle's drinking- something that never happens. They're pressed side to side on the couch without realizing it, the space between cushions creating a void that they've fallen into. It is comfortable and warm after a chilly, sad week, fringe benefits of his experimental plan. 

"Oh!" they hear a mild voice exclaim. "You two were here the whole time!"

Without pausing the game to acknowledge Jared, Dinesh says, "Yeah, Jared, what about it?"

"Well," Jared begins, "Richard had asked me to meet him back here- he's been over at Bream Hall just chatting with Monica about our options- and he said you two could just let me in, since I turned my key over to Richard after I …quit." There is a pause, Jared's voice trailing off. "But, well! When I knocked at the door, and rang the doorbell, nobody answered, and it was getting cold! So I found my way in through the bathroom window."

"Jesus Christ Jared," Dinesh replies, finally pausing the game and placing his arm on the back of the couch to twist and face him. "That window is like, not human sized. How the fuck did you do that?" Gilfoyle follows his gaze to find a rumpled Jared. 

"My body is accustomed to taking on the shape and size of my surroundings," Jared says, cheerily, "My foster family used to tell me I would be better off as a liquid!" There is a definite silence after that statement, Dinesh and Gilfoyle facing one another with matching, bewildered stares. Suddenly there is a small cardboard box on Gilfoyle's lap and Jared hovers above them, looking sunny despite his window crawling adventure. "This package was outside for you, Gilfoyle. I'm going to go wait for Richard in his room, if you two don't mind."

And just like that, Jared is down the hallway, humming to himself. 

"I don't think his foster family meant that in the way he thinks they did," Gilfoyle says, examining the package. "Be right back."

Gilfoyle stands up from the couch and heads to the bathroom, noticing a few things askew from a 6'4" man wedging himself through a tiny window. He finds his contact lens case and washes his hands, ready to finally be free of the burning stinging pain of not having glasses. Once he has his new glasses on, he leans across the counter to look at them on himself. Almost exactly the same frames as before. Perfect.

He stops by the refrigerator to grab two more beers, then sits down right next to Dinesh, ready to start up again where they stopped. He hands Dinesh his beer, reaching down to grab the controller. 

"Oh, thanks," Dinesh says, looking a little overwhelmed. He doesn't usually drink much in the afternoon, so being on his fourth beer is kind of a lot. Gilfoyle tries to swallow his irritation at Dinesh for being so spineless that he can't even turn down a goddamn beer. From Gilfoyle.

"What," Gilfoyle asks, attempting to pry it out of him.

"Unlike you, I'm not used to getting drunk before 5pm." Dinesh picks at the label of the beer and taps his fingers pretend-casually on its neck. 

"You don't have to drink it. You know you have free agency over what you choose to do, right? That's a thing you know, right?" Gilfoyle asks, borderline genuinely curious. All of Dinesh's actions prove otherwise, it's a fair fucking question.

"Of course I know that, asshole," Dinesh begins, setting the beer down, "Please don't turn this into something it's not, I just need a minute, damnit. I'm not used to drinking literally twenty-four-seven." He turns to face him, eyes widening at the sight of Gilfoyle. "Oh, thank fuck," he looks genuinely relieved, "Those fucking Halloween contacts were not okay."

Gilfoyle easily ignores the dig at his alcoholism, saying, "Man. You would've hated the costume. Black lycra and motion sensor ears. I even had claws."

The seeping flush climbs up Dinesh's neck once more, which gives Gilfoyle some pause. Dinesh mumbles out a halfhearted, "Yeah. Sounds. Awful." 

This blushing thing is new, especially accompanied by his inexplicable bashfulness. It's been fairly consistent throughout the day, even in the moments so typical they feel rehearsed. Gilfoyle has a few ideas of where it could be stemming from, with varying degrees of likelihood. He tests one of the less likely options, since it's certainly the most interesting. 

"Yeah. Definitely awful. I actually still have the whole thing, I'm gonna go put it on," he lies, starting to stand up.

Dinesh's eyes go wide as he grabs Gilfoyle's arm and yelps a panicked, "No! Don't do that. I-" He stammers, "My eyes would-burn. And I want to keep playing the game maybe instead of having to get surgery for my burnt corneas." He finishes, letting go of Gilfoyle's bicep to grab his formerly rejected beer, taking a long pull. 

Huh, okay. That's a development.

He knows Dinesh likes and needs him more than he likes and needs Dinesh. But he strangely never pieced together the possibility that Dinesh would feel anything sexually toward him, apart from his code that one time. He vividly remembers their conversation in the bar afterwards, Dinesh's heavy, regretful drinking. Under this new lens, he sees a very different picture of what Dinesh may have been grappling with. He also reaches for his beer, both of them silently drinking, now painfully aware of everywhere their bodies touch. 

He doesn't want to broadcast his recent epiphany, so he mumbles out a delayed, "Fine, suit yourself," and un-pauses the game. They get back into playing and Gilfoyle can feel the tension slowly release from Dinesh's body.

The frozen awkwardness eventually melts away into their usual back and forth. It pains Gilfoyle that he has a "usual back and forth" with anyone (when did he become a cliche?) but the familiarity feels undeniably good. Dinesh is back to relaxing fully against the sofa, head tilted back toward Gilfoyle. He wouldn't have noticed- except a few times he makes Dinesh laugh, Dinesh's forehead finds its way onto his shoulder. He is tempted to categorize this behavior as flirtatious, with all the possibilities that have been unearthed today. Gilfoyle begins noticing the warmth that spreads through him in these moments. He has no idea when that started happening, which makes him feel a little out of his mind. If Dinesh is somehow flirting with him, he's doing a damn good job.

The game long paused, they discuss what they think the next upgrades mean for the next installment. There is no judgment, though a fair amount of strong opinions asserted on both sides. One of the stronger arguments had gotten vaguely physical, Dinesh pinning Gilfoyle back into the couch and looming over him triumphantly. Gilfoyle goes perfectly still, knowing he easily has the strength to overcome Dinesh but kinda wanting to see how this plays out. 

"You're a lunatic," he rumbles up at him, stretching his body out to where he's comfortably underneath Dinesh. And shit, he wishes he could record how quickly Dinesh's expression changes. Confusion and something deeper flash in his huge brown eyes, which only broadens Gilfoyle's challenging smirk. Something akin to determination sneaks into Dinesh's gaze, when all of a sudden he wrenches himself off of Gilfoyle inexplicably.

___________________________________

 

Richard tries to hide how stunned he is at the scene he stumbles upon. He knows Dinesh and Gilfoyle have somewhat buried the hatchet and accepted their unconventional bond, but the dozen beer bottles, the proximity, the position he finds them in- this is all new. He doesn't think he can sneak by unnoticed. "Oh, h-hey fellas," he manages somewhat weakly.

Unsurprisingly, Dinesh moves off of Gilfoyle suddenly as if burned. Richard registers a flash of hurt behind Gilfoyle's finally-reunited glasses as he lifts himself back into a sitting position, before it is hidden behind an indifferent mask. He's a goddamn ninja.

"Oh, hey Richard," Dinesh says, as casually as awkward-Dinesh gets, "This moron just said he thinks the next battlefield is gonna revolve around the Central Powers. Like, who even knows enough about World War One to know what the fuck that means?"

"Fuck you," Gilfoyle retorts, smoothing his permanently rumpled clothes needlessly. "Just because your country didn't exist during World War One doesn't mean you can't educate yourself."

"Like you know anything about wars from your pussy country," Dinesh huffs back, likewise adjusting himself.

"Canada has fought in basically every major war since World War One, you simple fuck," Gilfoyle says, getting up. "I'm gonna take a shower. Feel free to take over, Richard." With that, he turns to walk down the hallway. 

Richard notices Dinesh looking a little at sea, clearly not pleased with the outcome even if he was the antagonist. "Fucking Gilfoyle," he mutters, looking at his hands.

"I've got some work to do with Jared," Richard tries desperately to change the subject. "Did you see him by any chance?"

"Yeah, he's in your room I think," Dinesh sighs, "He crawled through the fucking bathroom window to get in." Though he's still semi-pouting, his eyes do light up with the memory.

"Oh- man- is he okay? That's like… not humanly possible," Richard panics a little bit, unsure if he'll live to see the end of his Jared-related guilt. They hear the shower start up, and Dinesh sighs.

"Yeah, he's Jared, so he's fine. He's probably jumped out of a third story window and lived or something equally insane," Dinesh says, standing up himself, "I'll get back to work."

He starts to gather empty beer bottles, seeming determined to carry them all to the recycling bin in one trip. Richard silently slips away to his room, unwilling to keep Jared waiting much longer if his day was as harrowing as Dinesh implied. 

___________________________________

 

Once everything is cleaned up, Dinesh attempts to start up working where he left off, before he got sidetracked. His whole body feels like a giant frown, slouching and sad, which annoys him. He knows something is different- being around Gilfoyle lately makes him feel exposed and unnerved. Not to mention the control he is losing over his body, which betrays him at every turn. He thinks of how close he came to doing something completely insane back on that couch, and can't stop the shudder that wracks his body.

He's known that asshole for years- years! He remembers early on, badly wanting to be the sarcastic man's friend and feeling rejected when all he got in return was vitriol. Then, he realized despite the surface enmity they spent their days in constant orbit around each other. Though their interactions could never be classified as friendly, no day was complete if they didn't have some communication. 

He knows buried deep under the mountains of bullshit they sling at one another is a foundation of great respect. He's seen it, felt it himself, and watched his bizarre rival struggle against it. Little by little, however, he noticed a shift in their interactions. Trusting one another with tasks and assistance, teaming up when Richard flirted with peak insanity, being one another's plus-one for coffee and food breaks. Neither of them have done much to stop it, either. If anything it seems to keep getting worse and worse.

He confirmed his own change of heart a few days ago, when they lost Anton. Gilfoyle remained calm and collected, driving the van back in stoic silence. Dinesh was also at a loss for words, but did manage to ask if he wanted to get lunch or coffee or anything- which Gilfoyle politely turned down. When they got back to the incubator, Gilfoyle actually thanked Dinesh for being cool during the madness, and silently headed to his room and closed the door. Dinesh stood stunned at his door for a long time, his heart sinking deeper and deeper with every moment of inaction. For all he had mocked him, Gilfoyle had spent hours of his life toiling over his dumb machine. To see it destroyed in such a dumb, preventable way made him ache for his friend. His later-foiled scheme to make Gilfoyle feel better was born of that sad moment- and man, what an asshole Gilfoyle could be, in retrospect. But then again, he wasn't sure he'd have him any other way.

Dinesh tries to physically shake the train of thought out of his head, knowing he is spiraling a lot. He gets up, recognizing that his ability to focus on work is completely shot, and heads to the kitchen. He could at least return the favor and have some lunch/early dinner waiting for when Gilfoyle decides to come back into orbit.

___________________________________

 

Gilfoyle returns to the bathroom and starts up the shower, shutting the window halfway to reduce some of the cold seeping in. He takes his showers hot, not feeling clean until his body is pink with overheating. As he strips and climbs in, however, he can't help but lower the temperature, already feeling stifled. He tilts his head back to wet his long hair, and reaches for his shampoo.

Fucking Dinesh, he thinks to himself. Fucking, fucking Dinesh. What kind of lunatic like him shits where they eat? His own principles give him the freedom to explore his needs, to not view impulsive sex as anything but satisfaction of his animal urges. But Dinesh, repressed Dinesh, who has no practical experience with relationships, barely has practical experience with sexuality, why would he entertain the idea of expanding the nature of their relationship? Unless he has no clue what he's feeling, which knowing Dinesh, has to be the case. 

Come to think of it, he hasn't managed one conversation with Gilfoyle today where he didn't blush like a goddamn schoolgirl.

And oh, Dinesh blushing? Really?

He looks down a little dumbly at his stiffening dick. The past few days have been overwhelming. Going back even further reminds him of how far they have come in a short amount of time. They slept in the same bed with matching pajamas, for Christ's sake. And well, it was more like they drunkenly passed out in the same California king-sized bed- but in the light of day he knows they would never admit to anyone that happened. Not in the twenty-plus room fucking mansion owned by asshole Keenan Feldspar. They could've had their own wing, let alone room.

The thought of silk pajamas piques the interest of his dick once more. Clearly this is something his body knew before he dedicated any thought to it. He thinks of Dinesh hovering over him, that determined look in his eye sparking a burn low in Gilfoyle's belly. He knows what was coming next, and though he's pissed at Richard for interrupting, it may have been for the best. He's not sure he would've had any self-control in that moment. 

There's a part of him that wishes he could feel freaked out, or even perturbed- but he's smarter than that. All this feels is inevitable. He tries to ignore his hopeful dick and washes the shampoo out of his hair, picking up a bar of soap. But that sweet, creeping blush keeps popping into his mind and before he knows it, he's propping himself against the shower wall and fisting his relentless fucking dick without mercy. Orgasm hits him quickly and intensely- but that fits, he supposes. There's been enough fucking foreplay at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See now, here is where that whole non-writer thing comes into play. Sorry about the shifting points of view, it's just kinda how it happened. I'll try to keep it consistent in the next chapter so it's not SO completely out of place, hah!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, gave kudos, or commented on this story. I did want to preface this chapter by saying there are a few lines that I deemed character-appropriate that I found to be sexist/homophobic so I added some additional warnings to the story. In addition, Gilfoyle makes an inaccurate statement about Pakistan's laws on homosexuality; from what I've read same-sex activity is illegal but the penalty is often not enforced and is nowhere near death FFS. I have decided in my head that the character of Gilfoyle is extremely informed and up-to-date on other cultures and chooses to be an ignorant douchebag to piss Dinesh off. I think it works.

Dinesh feels a body pass behind him at the stove, and hears someone rifling in the refrigerator. He assumes it's Gilfoyle, from the glass bottles clinking around. Without looking he says, 'I'm making grilled cheese for us. And you're gonna like it."

"Thank you so much, Dinesh," he hears Jared's soft voice reply, "but I think Richard and I are meeting Monica to get dinner and chat a little more."

He turns to find the long figure holding a glass bottle of kombucha. "Oh, sorry Jared," Dinesh replies weakly, "I thought you were-"

"Gilfoyle?" Jared asks, politely. Dinesh doesn't really answer him so Jared presses on, "I'm just so happy that if anything positive came out of the maelstrom of Richard's near-demise, it was the two of you coming together and really solidifying your relationship."

Dinesh balks at his words, feeling frighteningly transparent. He thought he had done a good job keeping everything close to his chest. While his mind is searching for an appropriate reply, a freshly showered Gilfoyle walks up to the kitchen. He seems marginally more relaxed, and Dinesh can smell his soap over the grilled cheese, which he realizes he has left unattended. He turns back to the stove to quickly give the sandwiches a flip. 

"I'll leave you two to enjoy your dinner," Jared says, cheery as ever, "And don't worry, we'll be out of your hair in no time. Richard is just finishing up one last thing on his computer and then you'll have the house to yourselves!" 

Dinesh tries to shut away his mortification, deliberately turning to face just Jared now that the sandwiches are safe from burning. "Thanks, Jared. Sounds great."

Jared beams at him, then Gilfoyle, and takes his kombucha with him down the hallway, likely toward Richard's room. Once they hear the door close, Dinesh quickly turns back to the sandwiches, not really needing to do anything but clinging to them like a lifeline. 

"Uh, what the fuck was that?" he hears from behind him. The sandwiches are basically done so Dinesh just turns off the flame from the stovetop and whips around to face a shockingly amused looking Gilfoyle. His heart rate slows a bit when he realizes he's not upset. 

"Fucking Jared, man," Dinesh begins, "He like, said this stupid shit about how you and I came together after all the Richard crap." He looks down at the floor, "So stupid." He knows he's never even been decent at playing anything cool, which is why he didn't want to protest Jared's words. He always ends up being found out.

He watches Gilfoyle rifle through the refrigerator for one of his beers. He pops it open, and says before drinking, "He's not wrong." 

They stand in silence for a good minute, staring at faraway spots on the ground. Dinesh awkwardly clears his throat and croaks out, "I made you grilled cheese."

"Okay," Gilfoyle replies

"You got me breakfast, I just wanted to return the favor. I hate owing people and I definitely don't want to owe you anything," Dinesh verbally vomits. He hates being under a microscope, Jesus Christ.

"Bullshit. I got you breakfast because I fucked up the nice night you had planned yesterday. If anything we were even," Gilfoyle says, taking another swig of his beer. Dinesh is taken aback- he hadn't told anybody about his pathetic attempt at a surprise and had vowed to not try anything like it again. How is it that he's always found out?

Dinesh turns away and fumbles with the grilled cheese, tilting them onto plates a little recklessly. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, I got beer- so what if its the beer you like? Is that not allowed? That doesn't mean I-"

"Dinesh," Gilfoyle interrupts, sternly cutting off what Dinesh knows is rambling. He places a steadying hand on the plate, forcing him to still his movements. Dinesh panics inwardly but turns to look at Gilfoyle, meeting his gaze bravely. "Thank you," Gilfoyle forces out, "Just- thank you. I'm hungry, this looks good." With that, he removes the plate from Dinesh's hand and sets it on the table, movements slow and deliberate like he's dealing with a frightened animal. It unnerves Dinesh even more, but he finishes plating his sandwich instead of contemplating it further.

"Want something to drink?" Gilfoyle tries, a little stilted. 

Dinesh fights back his urge to well, fight- and says, "Sure. Water? I'll take some water." With that, he crosses to the kitchen table himself, and settles down with his plate. He hears Gilfoyle take two glasses down and fill them up with water, placing them at the table. 

"I guess we're trapped in this vicious cycle of doing shit for one other," Gilfoyle mumbles, settling in to sit where he was at breakfast. Dinesh looks over at him, unsure as to what to say. He looks down at his grilled cheese for inspiration.

"Yeah, I guess so," Dinesh agrees somberly. 

Gilfoyle lets out his weird, slow laugh and picks up his sandwich, taking a bite. He washes it down with the beer he hasn't quite finished. In lieu of an explanation, he takes another bite after another cycle of laughing passes. 

"Oh my god, are you actually fucking insane or are you going to tell me what's so funny?" Dinesh says finally, unable to hide his exasperation.

Gilfoyle finishes chewing and chases his next bite with some water. "I think this is the most miserable we've been around one another in a long time. And its cuz we decided to be nice to each other." His mouth quirks again before he wipes at it with a paper towel. "That shit's funny."

Dinesh considers this for a moment, then says, "I don't know. I think if anything it proves what I've always known to be true. You only know how to be a hateful dick." He bites into his sandwich defiantly.

Gilfoyle rips a piece of his crust and throws it directly at Dinesh's face, hitting him in the eye. Dinesh barely registers a triumphant smirk before shrieking, "Ow! You fucking lunatic!" which causes Gilfoyle's smirk to grow into a laugh. "Ungrateful piece of shit, this is what I get for making you dinner. See if I ever make that mistake again." He wipes the grease off of his eye carefully. He wants to get back at Gilfoyle but isn't sure how to escalate without causing an all-out war they would have to clean up. He panic-decides to swipe Gilfoyle's beer bottle and spit in it, licking around the top. It's way too immature to even remotely be sexy, and he knows it. He feels egged on by the perturbed amusement in Gilfoyle's gaze. 

"How do you like that? Huh? Asshole?" He slams the bottle back on the table in front of Gilfoyle, triumphant.

"Yeah. I'm the lunatic," Gilfoyle replies. He picks up the beer bottle, and takes a swig as if nothing had transpired. Dinesh has warring feelings of disgust and interest, though his face only betrays the disgust. "Please. With your virgin mouth you probably only succeeded in making it cleaner," Gilfoyle says, finishing it off.

"You don't know where my mouth has been!" Dinesh cuts back, insulted. "It's done lots of dirty things," his voice gets small, "lots."

"Kissing with tongue doesn't count as dirty," Gilfoyle says, not having finished chewing the last of his sandwich. It's gross, and Dinesh smacks at his shoulder, reprimanding. 

"Don't talk with your mouth full. Were you raised by wolves? Jesus Christ," Dinesh says, shaking his head. 

Gilfoyle just grins broadly at him, a sight he rarely sees. He almost appreciates it, except for the fact that there's food all over his teeth and mouth. 

"You're disgusting," Dinesh says primly, finishing up the last of his grilled cheese too. Gilfoyle just gives him a smirk in response. They sit in silence for several moments, Dinesh feeling the edges of his buzz fade into a contented warmth. He rests his hands on the sides of his plate, and sighs happily. 

"You made me dinner," Gilfoyle says, reaching a hand out to cover Dinesh's on the table, food thankfully having been properly swallowed. "Thank you, Dinesh."

Dinesh flushes immediately, which God damn it, he's been a fucking fire truck all day. He can't control how his body reacts to Gilfoyle being nice. He's enjoyed this dinner so much, even when it was them awkwardly figuring out how to be. He just loves spending time with Gilfoyle. That thought passing through his head makes him feel a little sick, as if Gilfoyle can hear his thoughts. He looks from Gilfoyle's hand to his eyes and replies in a small voice, "It was my pleasure."

Gilfoyle gives him the smallest smile, and their eyes trail back down to where they are joined. Dinesh feels Gilfoyle's thumb smooth across the back of his hand, and he thinks maybe he might be dying, or dead already. He knows Gilfoyle has more experience with this shit than he does- an action like this has some intention behind it. 

They hear the front door click shut, which breaks them out of their moment. Gilfoyle does give Dinesh's hand one last squeeze before picking up the plates, and putting them in the sink. He walks out of the kitchen without another word, and Dinesh curses softly at the yawning void that creates in his heart. Fuck fucking everyone.  
___________________________________

"Did you see what- is there something happening? That we don't know about?" Richard is breathing heavily as he and Jared stride toward the car in the chilly Spring air. 

Jared looks positively delighted, which confuses Richard even more. "Well, Dinesh made dinner for Gilfoyle," he says slyly, unlocking his car.

Richard has reached the other side of the car, balking at Jared. He stares over the top of the car at him, eyes alight with danger. "O-kay, but like, is there something going on between them that somebody's not telling me? Cuz I've seen some pretty weird shit today," he blurts out, opening the car door as Jared does.

"Richard, you know I don't like to speculate about coworker's love lives," Jared admonishes gently, which is true- when RIchard would try to engage Jared about Mia, or whatever the fuck happened with Tara, or even talking about Monica, Jared would pull out his most generic Human Resources answers.

"Fine, yeah. But fuck, why are they so weird? It was like, dark in there," he says, motioning to the darkening twilight outside. "And I could've sworn I saw them holding hands! Do either of them even do that with girls?"

"I would say it's likely neither of them have experienced a relationship with women that even approaches the intimacy of their companionship," Jared replies diplomatically, starting his car, "I mean, Richard, it is possible that they're exploring some level of romantic involvement. Is that going to be something that hinders your working relationship?"

Richard watches the streets pass by in silent contemplation. He never had much experience with anything or anyone gay, except that people always assumed he was gay himself. Which caused him a great deal of anxiety growing up, mellowing out a bit in his adulthood. He thinks of his programmers, remembering even he told them to just fuck already. He had forgotten about that with all the other bullshit that went down this past week.

There were plenty of contributing factors to that particular outburst.

"I mean, I guess not," Richard says, "I worry about if they'd be able to work with one another if it didn't work out. I mean- they're literally the best in the valley. I got lucky."

"Richard," Jared begins, "We all got lucky, finding one another. And Dinesh and Gilfoyle- well, they already have such a chaotic bond, and the line of love and hate is so thin, I don't know. I think it was just a matter of time that something changed," They pull up into a the parking lot of the gastropub where they're meeting Monica.

"I guess you're right," Richard sighs, "Man, they're already such nightmares separately. Can you imagine them as a unit? Working together?" He shudders. "Remind me to keep my distance."

Jared laughs, humming in agreement. "They are definitely a force of nature."

Richard shakes his head, huffing out a small laugh. Then he turns to Jared suddenly, "So wait, where the fuck is Jian Yang?"  
___________________________________

Gilfoyle makes straight for his room, and shuts the door behind him. Once again, he feels out of control- he had come to terms with being sexually attracted to Dinesh but this whole sentimental hand-holding shit caught him off guard. He felt it happening outside of himself, similar to what he had imagined demonic possession would feel like. 

But shit, didn't it feel natural? Like it was the right thing, the thing he wanted to do at the time? Agonizing over things like this is not something he does. It goes against everything he's fought for after a lifetime of always doing what was expected of him. He adopted those principles for a reason, and he'll be damned if he shies away from what he wants now. 

He takes a sip of the stale water sitting on his desk, mulling over his next course of action carefully. Nothing sounds worse than talking about their feelings, but he's concerned that just going for it would send Dinesh down a denial tailspin- he doesn't have the patience for that either. He sighs, and puts his hand on the doorknob to open it. A flood of warmth fills him when he remembers Dinesh didn't pull away or even flinch when he took his hand.

Fuck it.

He has to just try. It's Dinesh, for fuck's sake. If he can't successfully seduce someone as desperate as him he doesn't deserve to keep his dick.  
__________________________________

When Gilfoyle opens the door to his bedroom, he's slightly taken aback to see Dinesh on the other side of the door, leaning against the hallway wall. He's holding two unopened beers and a bottle opener, and looks a little caught red-handed.

"Hey," Gilfoyle says, assessing the situation.

"Hey," Dinesh replies in his pretend-casual. "These were-ah- the last two in there. I was thinking if you wanted to finish them before someone lame takes them, we can play that last part of Battlefield we were on before we uh," he flushes, "stopped, and if we need more I can get some more beer delivered," he trails off as Gilfoyle crosses the distance between them, taking the beers from his hands and setting them on the floor next to where they stand. Dinesh looks down at the beers somewhat dumbly then blinks wide eyes back up at Gilfoyle. "Gilfoyle?" he croaks out.

"I think we're shit at being nice to one another," Gilfoyle says, gaze dropping down to Dinesh's mouth then back up to his still-huge eyes. 

"Who said I'm trying to be nice to you," Dinesh breathes out, chancing the smallest glance at Gilfoyle's mouth before tilting his head back against the wall, overwhelmed.

"I think," Gilfoyle begins, inching closer and testing the waters, "we need to stop being fucking pussies." Dinesh tilts his head away from the wall, bringing their faces only an inch apart.

"Fuck you, Gilfoyle," Dinesh murmurs, breathing shallowly and closing his eyes, "I'm not gay."

Gilfoyle is so close to Dinesh's face he feels, more than he sees, Dinesh's eyebrows being drawn together. His pulse is thrumming at the magnetic pull of Dinesh's mouth, bringing them closer and closer without actually touching. There is the tiniest voice in his head saying no, reminding him that this could get so fucked up. But Dinesh's body is so warm, the smell of his stupid cologne so intoxicating, Gilfoyle has to place a hand on the wall to keep himself upright.

"Who said anything about being gay?" Gilfoyle mumbles, not sure if he's actually feeling Dinesh's lips or his breath bouncing back to him. From the way Dinesh's breath hitches, he assumes it is their mouths touching. "This isn't even gay. Yet."

Dinesh groans a little, turning his head to the side, and Gilfoyle intently watches him writhe against the hallway wall. An entire adulthood of free carnality and Gilfoyle is the most turned on he has ever been, by this emotionally stunted man-child. "'C'mon. Are you fucking kidding me? This is the gayest shit I've ever seen," Dinesh whines. He places both his palms on Gilfoyle's chest, and Gilfoyle half expects himself to be pushed away, which- fuck- but Dinesh's fingers smooth out over his pecs and then contract, bunching his shirt up. Gilfoyle keeps his eyes trained on Dinesh, unwittingly trailing down to his mouth and staying there.

"You clearly aren't very creative with your porn," he breathes out, the barb at complete odds with how his voice sounds. Dinesh balls up his fists and petulantly pounds them against Gilfoyle's chest, then lets them trail down Gilfoyle's sides and rest on his hips. He is so acquainted with bratty Dinesh, but in this new circumstance it's nothing short of unbelievably erotic.

"Asshole, you don't even know-" Dinesh begins, but Gilfoyle interrupts their idiotic banter by capturing his mouth in a kiss. Dinesh groans immediately which leads to a world of possibilities for them, opening up to one another easily. The hands on Gilfoyle's hips slide up his back in exploration as Gilfoyle rests his hand on Dinesh's neck, bringing them even closer together. Their hips instinctually find one another and Gilfoyle fits his knee between Dinesh's legs, feeling the stirrings of an undeniable swell.

Their kisses are tempestuous, becoming more hot and wet. Dinesh grows more bold with every moment and bears down on needily Gilfoyle's leg. He is a noisy motherfucker, Gilfoyle learns, especially when Gilfoyle wrenches away from his mouth to trail open mouthed kisses up and down his neck. He pays special attention to a spot right beneath his earlobe that causes Dinesh to grind down on him even harder. 

He's turned Dinesh into a mess, which makes him feel warm inside. "Holy shit, holy shit," Dinesh pants when Gilfoyle, now pressing kisses along any skin exposed around his collar, spreads his hand over his pec and starts thumbing at an erect nipple. "What the fuck?" he laughs, squirming and looking down at Gilfoyle's handiwork. Gilfoyle just replies with a smirk, his hand sliding up to cup the back of Dinesh's head, giving him a deep kiss. Dinesh melts into it, his own hands reaching up to thread into Gilfoyle's long hair. They grab at each other eagerly, chests flush against one another. Gilfoyle forces himself back, hand still on Dinesh's face and resting his forehead on his shoulder. They breathe each other's air, trying to fill forgotten lungs. 

"If this is a joke…" Dinesh begins, not really able to finish that thought.

Gilfoyle takes Dinesh's hand and presses it against his erection. "Can't fake that," He replies, and Dinesh pulls his hand away quickly. "You've been using my leg like a fucking fleshlight and you can't touch my dick?"

Dinesh flushes and wrenches himself from the wall, gaining some control of the situation. "Shut up. Not all of us are experts at being gay, okay?" He says, which seems awaken something in him. He covers his eyes with his hands, and moves to start rubbing his temples. "Fucking dick," he mutters, eyes closed.

"Dinesh," Gilfoyle steps back to create some distance, eyes sincere and oddly kind. He begins soberly, "Just so we're clear- I'm not here to force anyone to do anything. If you're not feeling this, we're done here, no hard feelings."

"Of course I'm fucking feeling it you asshole!" Dinesh cuts back, voice getting a secretive edge. Gilfoyle crosses his arms defensively but trains his face back to neutral when Dinesh levels him with a glare. "Gonna make me say it now? I. Fucking. Want. You." he says. "I just- don't know how this works."

Dinesh is studying the ground intently after his outburst, skin mottled with that blush Gilfoyle has become so familiar with. He remembers what today was all about in the first place, how sweet, comfortable, and honestly beautiful his friend could be. How seamlessly they work together, how most of the time it is just as easy and instinctual to take care of Dinesh as it is to make his life miserable. He obviously can't bring himself to put any of his thoughts into words, so he takes Dinesh's hand in his own. Dinesh looks as confused and apprehensive as he did about the coffee and pastries, which feels like three lifetimes ago. Gilfoyle gives him a somewhat pained smile and kisses his knuckles gently. 

"We've been dancing around this shit for a long time," Gilfoyle says, and sees Dinesh's face go slack as he cups the side of it, drawing him in to capture his mouth in a soft kiss. Dinesh melts into it, wrapping his arms around Gilfoyle's waist to pull him even closer. Though much less urgent than previous kisses, there is a low burning heat melding their bodies together- like talking about it has forced them to let go and accept their new, bizarre reality. 

They are fully breathless, and achingly hard when they break apart for air, seemingly hours later. "Damn, Dinesh," Gilfoyle murmurs, stealing one last kiss from Dinesh's swollen mouth. 

"Yeah," Dinesh sighs and lets his head fall forward against Gilfoyle's own, nosing at his cheek and pressing a kiss at the corner of his mouth, against his soft beard. Gilfoyle turns his head just barely to urge their mouths together once more. Their hips rock against one another, the friction of their jeans painful and thrilling. Gilfoyle swallows Dinesh's small gasps whenever their erections drag together. Dinesh buries his face in Gilfoyle's neck, finding a smooth patch and tentatively pressing open-mouthed kisses. They accidentally find a rhythm, the soundtrack of their heavy breathing peppered with groans and whines from Dinesh, who is more than ready to succumb to orgasm right there in the hallway. Then suddenly, they hear the sound of keys fumbling with the front door, and Dinesh's eyes widen as he snaps out of it. 

"Fuck they're back!" he panics, catching his breath. "Does it look like we just- do you think they'll know-"

Gilfoyle had forgotten, momentarily, what an insecure idiot his newfound partner could be. He rolls his eyes and drags him into his room, shutting the door behind him. 

"Problem solved," he drones, trying so very hard not to be a dick. He moves to kiss Dinesh again and reignite that moment, but is stopped by a strong hand to the chest. "What the fuck is it?"

"I don't know if I can-" he stutters over a definition so he just gestures between them, "When people are home."

Gilfoyle narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. "Dinesh," he begins, "I'm only gonna say this once. The amount that you care about what other people think is pathetic, not to mention personally disappointing- since clearly I've managed to accept you as a person I'd like to become intimate with." 

Dinesh looks like he wants to argue but Gilfoyle presses on. "That being said, I realize this is new territory for you, and where you come from, an offense punishable by death," Dinesh rolls his eyes at his ignorance, but doesn't interrupt, "So I'm willing to accept your …limitations, as long as you promise me one thing."

"And what the fuck is that?" Dinesh snaps back, irritated.

"I need you to be honest with me, which I know is anathema to everything you choose to be. But," Gilfoyle pauses, clearing his throat awkwardly, "Unfortunately, against all odds, it seems like not only do you like me, but I like you. And we work together, and have a friendship that I rely on to make my time outside hell's fiery gates more tolerable. So don't fuck this up by trying to be someone you're not. Ever."

"Is this how you seduce all your partners?" Dinesh asks, "Because really, I don't know how anyone resists you. I'm ready to jizz in my pants just from--" He's cut off mid-sentence by Gilfoyle catching their mouths together in a searing kiss. Momentarily Dinesh sinks into it, their mouths opening up to one another, but then he wrenches himself away. 

"Literally two seconds ago I said this wasn't okay!!!" Dinesh hisses out, keeping Gilfoyle at arm's length. Gilfoyle is smirking, and Dinesh rolls his eyes. "Okay, so I guess this means it's fine if I start lying to you, yeah? You total prick."

Gilfoyle sobers up just a little, realizing their trust is on thin ice as it is. "Fine. You're right."

Dinesh looks vindicated, and huffily adjusts his shirt. "Yeah. I am."

They hear Richard's voice talking animatedly past the doorway, presumably to Jared. "Fucking see?" Dinesh whispers, pointing to the door. "SO close!" 

Gilfoyle rolls his eyes at Dinesh, but acquiesces. "Yeah. With Richard's x-ray vision we would've been outed for sure." Dinesh gives him a dirty look, and he continues, "Listen. All I meant is that I don't want you to bullshit me. Because we know each other too well to start that shit now. There's a reason we work well together." He pauses, letting his words sink in. Dinesh looks a little lost, and a lot overwhelmed, staring at a single spot on the wall blankly. 

Gilfoyle tries, "Well, do you wanna watch a movie or something? Since we're already here. I won't try anything, I promise."

Dinesh eyes him warily, and looks around the room. "Where would we sit? Like, on the bed?"

Gilfoyle sinks onto his bed, and pulls his laptop from his nightstand. "I'm putting on a movie. If you want to watch with me, sit wherever you're comfortable. If you want to leave, I'm not stopping you." He quickly finds a familiar title from his 'Watch Again' Netflix category, and clicks it on. He sets the laptop on the bed and lays back against his pillows, clearly comfortable with this routine. Dinesh mind races as he fights with himself over his appropriate course of action. Slowly, deliberately, he sits at the edge of the bed. 

"If that's gonna be your choice, at least turn off the damn light," Gilfoyle murmurs, eyes not leaving the screen.

Dinesh scoffs and rolls his eyes, but stands and reaches for the floor lamp anyhow. In the dark, it's a little easier to ease down onto Gilfoyle's bed, laying back stiffly. 

"Independence Day? Are you fucking kidding me?" Dinesh says, unable to stop himself. 

"I used to watch it when I was sick growing up. It's comforting to me," Gilfoyle says, chancing a glance at Dinesh. "You don't have to stay."

Dinesh seems taken aback at the soft honesty coming from his antagonistic… whatever they are now. Dinesh just settles down a little more snugly, sharing a pillow with Gilfoyle and resting his head dangerously close to his shoulder. Gilfoyle smirks and wraps a strong arm around Dinesh's shoulders, but then says somewhat hesitantly, "Is this okay?"

Dinesh turns his head to look at Gilfoyle, ready with some witty reply, until he sees sincerity bordering on earnestness magnified in Gilfoyle's gaze. He swallows it down with some difficulty, and just nods in reply, not sure how else to respond to such vulnerability. Gilfoyle smiles softly, and after a few moments pass in the movie, he presses a gentle kiss to Dinesh's temple, nosing at the soft hair there. It feels so good Dinesh just cannot argue anymore, so he settles in a little closer, resting his arm on Gilfoyle's stomach in what might be described as cuddling. Dinesh almost pulls away, panicking at the thought he may have taken things too far- until he feels fingers thread through his own, and a thumb tracing small circles on his hand. 

Maybe this would be worth getting used to.


	4. Chapter 4

Jian-Yang arrives home a little after midnight, expecting to see the usual- the bearded asshole unaware of how much the ugly virgin wants him as they play video games on the sofa, while the tall lady-man frets over the non-bearded asshole. He's surprised, then, to find the living room still and empty, all the lights turned out. 

He takes the last of Erlich's old Fage yogurts from the fridge with a spoon, heading down the hallway to enjoy his conquest. He finds two beers resting outside the bearded one's room, and picks them up as well. They are still slightly cold, and definitely not a beer he likes, so he quietly turns the knob to his roommate's room to set the beers inside. 

A soft laptop glow illuminates two figures on the bed, and before Jian-Yang can turn away he registers the striped shirt of what has to be the virgin. He blankly studies the sight- the asshole laying on his back, head tilted toward the virgin's, whose arm is wrapped around the asshole's middle. The virgin's head is resting on the asshole's chest, mouth slack with sleep.

He almost runs out when he sees the asshole start to stir, who blinks his eyes open right at Jian-Yang. "What the fuck do you want?" he murmurs, clearly trying not to disturb the virgin.

"Don't leave your fucking beer in the hallway," Jian-Yang whispers by way of response, placing the beers near the door. 

Gilfoyle just grunts in reply, and then mumbles, "Close the door on your way out."

Jian-Yang takes ones final look at the weird scene, feeling oddly vindicated to have been right. These guys are all morons. 

Right before he fully shuts the door, he catches the bearded one pressing a kiss on the ugly one's forehead before shutting the laptop and settling back. He shudders a little and heads to his room, ready to tear into his yogurt and forget what he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add a lil Jian-Yang since he was so ignored the rest of the story. Hah! Um just to be clear this is obviously Jian-Yang's opinion on these characters, Dinesh is NOT ugly in the slightest.


End file.
